


Odo's Lament

by DictionaryWrites



Series: Cardassian Diff Design Garak [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Breathplay, Choking, Interspecies, M/M, Size Difference, Tail Sex, Tails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 19:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2240883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For subspacecommunication. I really didn’t like how that ask looked, so I elected to, ah, flesh it out a bit. Garak and Bashir enjoy some time alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Odo's Lament

**Author's Note:**

  * For [subspacecommunication (nattherat)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nattherat/gifts).



Julian is gasping, and under his skin is a new red flush that Garak finds just fascinating - it usual to elicit such a charming response from humans by embarrassing them or teasing them, but the pretty blush occurs also if one is to wrap one's tail around their throats and play over their cocks with just the very tip of a retracted claw. 

Garak has the other man pressed against the wall, having pinned him as soon as they'd entered the privacy of the good doctor's quarters, and he'd been very swift indeed in unzipping those pesky Starfleet uniform trousers. Ugly things, anyway – if Garak had ripped the cheap fabric with his claws in the process, he would have regretted it not at all.

Of course, when Julian Bashir is like  _ this _ , for once one's eye is not drawn to the hideous monstrosity Starfleet names “uniform”: oh, no. 

"Ga-Ga-Ga-" The lovely doctor cannot even  _ speak _ , and Garak enjoys this. Oh, he most certainly does.

"Pardon?" He asks, feigning innocence, and he is not surprised to see the other man frustrated. He can feel Julian's pulse under the coil of his tail, feel warmth against his scales.

" _More_." Garak tuts: so demanding. A lesson ought be taught here. He wraps the entirety of his hand around the other’s cock, careful with his claws - so fragile the thing looks, and it feels so strangely soft. The good doctor's biology is terribly different to his own, and Garak feels a distinct desire to _examine_ the other man further. Julian chokes out another noise, and he taps Garak’s tail, taps it again, nodding because he cannot speak. 

“Tighter?” A hissed whine: assent. Garak squeezes, and he feels the other man's heart beat all the stronger at his tail, feels Julian’s prick _pulse_ under his palm's grip. How very lovely indeed. There is certainly something to be said for biological differences such as theirs. Garak has always somewhat _enjoyed_ the study of anatomy. 

“Garak, oh, oh, God, I'm going to- I'm gonna-” Much of his usual, particular enunciation is lost, and he’s so very _wrong_ anyway. Garak always does delight somewhat when the other man is incorrect, perhaps because he's so very _intelligent_ , but mostly because he enjoys teasing.

When it suits him, Garak can be terribly cruel, and unfortunately for the young doctor, it quite often  _ does _ .

“Oh, Doctor Bashir. You aren’t going to. Not yet.” He assures the other man in a sweet, low voice. Julian looks confused for a moment, but he is easily distracted. Garak is quick, efficient; there is no man, no woman, no _being_ more skilled at this than he is.

He brings Julian a tad closer to the edge with every twist of his palm, every drag of his tongue over the other's collar bone, his nipples; each new lick affects Julian to  _ spasm _ beneath him, wriggle and cry out. Garak can taste his sweat on the air, taste his interest, taste his coming orgasm. 

Garak is patient, and so he waits. He waits, bringing Julian closer and closer to the all important edge, nearly there,  _ nearly... _

Garak abruptly draws his hand away, leaves Julian’s pretty prick pulsing weakly between his legs. It  _ bobs _ in the space there, and it's so  _ pretty. _ Garak wants to play over it with his mouth, his teeth, his own organ, perhaps – to slide himself against Julian, delight in the way he writhes when pinned down on a bed.

“ _ **Garak**_!” Julian protests, choking on his own breaths, and Garak smiles. Garak wishes to do all those things, and he thinks he may well do them all tonight.

“Yes, my dear?” He tightens the coil of his tail the slightest bit more before the other man can answer, and Julian _gasps_ for air he cannot pull into his lungs, his eyes wide and watering, his pretty lips parted. Garak soon releases him, of course, and he trails his tail down the other's body, letting it slide easily over Julian's chest before he coils it comfortably around the soft meat of Julian's thigh.

“I want.” Julian says, as if it is a full sentence, and he pulls Garak closer by the front of his tunic, looking up at Garak with _fascination_. No, something more than fascination, Garak thinks: curiosity, perhaps.

And-

Longing.

“I _want_ -” Julian repeats, and this time it sounds incomplete, but the doctor is breathing heavily, trying to keep hold of his train of thought but struggling, because the tip of Garak's tail has begun playing over the sensitive patch of skin between the human's (bizarrely) hanging testicles and the entrance there. 

“Yes?” Garak asks, coaxing. He acts innocent once again, as if _confused_ as to the other's inability to speak. 

“ _Fuck_ me.” Julian growls, and it sounds _terribly_ like a command.

“Why, my good doctor, I thought you'd never ask.” Garak says sweetly, and he leans down, dragging his tongue slowly around the other's left nipple, delighting in the way he shakes. So _sensitive_ to touch. “I merely have one issue in processing your request.”

“Oh? What's that?” Julian asks, his lovely brow furrowed, and Garak's smirk is all teeth. It is an expression many would call predatory – those people would be quite correct.

“I'm afraid I am the dominant partner in this situation.” His hands move suddenly to the curve of the other's buttocks, still cruelly clad in their ugly Starfleet-issued prison, and he digs his claws in _just_ slightly, just enough to smart. Bashir grunts, hips bucking quite outside his control. “And I do not take well to a domineering tone.”

“Well then.” Julian says breathily, and his eyes close for just a moment. “You'd best learn to.” He cups Garak through his tunic, plays over the slight bulge with clever doctor's fingers, and it is quite _affecting_ , even through the fabric.

“That's a convincing argument.” Garak says, trying to hide the slight strain in his voice.

“I'm good at arguing.” Julian says.

“So I see. Shall we take this debate to bed?” Julian grins, and he looks up at Garak with such a _charming_ expression, why. Garak could just eat him up.

“Is it customary among Cardassians, my dear Garak, to demonstrate one's strength to a potential mate?”

“No. We demonstrate our cunning, wit, and ability to kill.” Julian stares at him, evidently unsure as to whether he is joking. Garak finds this owlish reaction sweetly amusing each and every time.

“Carry me to bed?”

“Oh.” Well, that is a simple enough request. “Very well.” Garak says, and he lifts the other man with ease. Julian is _very_ warm pressed against his body like this – it is yet nicer than he might have expected. “Julian?”

“Mmm?”

“Does this mean you will demonstrate your _strength_ to me at some point?” Garak lowers him back onto the bed, and a more animalistic portion of his psyche delights in how he has Julian vulnerable, on his back, unable to defend himself. He could play with Julian all he liked.

He will.

“I demonstrate strength with you every day, my dear Garak.” Julian says, and Garak tilts his head. “Strength of spirit in restraining myself from biting at you.”

“Biting _at_ me? Why, Julian,” Garak purrs, and he lowers his body over Julian's, tastes his excitement, feels his heart race under the press of his tail. “You may bite at me anytime you like.”

“The same to you.” Julian whispers. And why, an invitation such as _that_?

How is Garak to resist?

\---

Odo stops short in the corridor, his head turning slightly to the side, and then he takes a step to the closest set of doors: those to Doctor Bashir's private quarters. It is job to do patrols, certainly, and those are signs of a  _ struggle. _

“Oh, no, no, my good doctor, you aren't getting away this time.” That sounds like a threat.

“Let me- _agh_ , ah, Garak-” Those _are_ the sounds of a struggling man... Odo hears the sound of flesh slapping on flesh. “Agh, do that again!”

Odo lets out a loud sigh and shakes his head in disgust, making his way through the corridor again.

He will  _ firmly  _ suggest soundproofing the next time he sees one of them in the station's corridors. 

 


End file.
